Fighting Breeds Remorse
by Pakmai
Summary: Sherlock comes back to Baker Street injured and John always fixes him. One day he invites John to see just where he goes. Unfortunately Sherlock's 'friends' don't play fair, and soon John is in trouble, left in Sherlock's care. They both might not survive John's new dependence. Personalities clash. Sparks fly. John/Sherlock eventually. Post-TBB.
1. Chapter 1

It's been two months since John moved in with the world's only consulting detective. It's been strange, and amazing, and for the first time since he came back to London, he has a purpose in life. His first attempt at dating and a job didn't pan out so well, and he was quickly both dumped and fired. Thankfully because of the Blind Banker case as he's named it, the bills are paid and they won't have to worry about it for a while.

Perhaps the oddest thing that has happened though is once or twice a month he's noticed that Sherlock leaves the flat at night, and when he comes back, he looks like he's been in a fight. There's no sign of drugs or anything like that, and most of the time the injuries aren't anything that need stitches. Of course, John has a first aid kit that is better than average, and he has some of his own tools as well. Which means that he can take care of the injuries that Sherlock suffers. It worries John but he never thought it was his place to question it.

Since he doesn't have a job, John also cannot stay in the flat with Sherlock all day. Needing something to do, and the outlet for some of the anger he still carries around, he starts working out. And when running in the park isn't enough, he finds a gym that also teaches martial arts. Becoming a member is easy and from then on he goes there two or three times a week for a few hours to work out. It's hard at first, especially since his injured shoulder isn't back to full strength yet. He's also not in any rush, not having any immediate need to buff up or anything like that. Slowly he's getting back into the type of shape he was a few years ago in the army. If it's a day off from the gym and he needs to get away, he goes to the firing range, having a feeling that he will need to keep his skills up in that department.

To his surprise, when he exits the gym one day after one of the martial arts classes, he sees Sherlock leaning casually against the side of the building. He didn't tell the detective where he was going, but the gym bag was probably enough for the taller man to figure it out. "Bloody hell, Sherlock. What, did you follow me here?" He asks, eyebrows going up. "Couldn't stand not knowing something?" He accuses as he watches the taller man, his own blonde-gray hair still damp from the showers inside, the least he can do is not inflict his body odor on the general public.

Sliding his hands into the pockets of his coat, Sherlock looks over at John, a faint smile ghosting over his lips. "Bored." He says by way of explanation, and after a little roll of his shoulders that could be a shrug, he says, "You're quite skilled." He finally says, falling into step beside the smaller man, his brilliant mind whirring with possibilities. "I have seen that you can have a somewhat volatile personality, but with excellent self control." Comes the backwards compliment as the man scans the street slowly, then looks down at John and turns down the street, expecting the doctor to follow.

And follow he does, because as he's quickly finding out, John can't resist. The detective is just too enigmatic, and he needs someone to look after him, so after a little jog, John catches up to him and shakes his head a little. "Well, you push my buttons easier than most." he says with a slight smirk up at the man, though it's good-natured. Mycroft had one thing right in that he did become loyal - and protective - toward the detective very quickly. There's just something between them that clicked, despite the fact that Sherlock frustrates and angers him on a daily basis. However, no matter how angry he gets or how much he yells, he always returns to Baker Street, because he's starting to think of it as home.

Sherlock merely looks over at John for a moment. "And yet, I said danger.." he trails off and waves a dismissive hand. "You have questions. About what you no doubt think are mysterious injuries." He says as he looks over at John for a few moments, arching an eyebrow as he continues to lead the way down the street, finally turning and slipping into a little cafe.

By this point, John knows better than to ask the obvious question. "Thanks, I am hungry." He says simply as he follows the man inside. "And you haven't eaten for at least two days, so you're going to eat, too." He says in a firm tone.

Deciding that this time, giving up is easier than fighting, Sherlock merely nods, moving to a table about halfway between the back and front of the restaurant, sitting down after removing his jacket.

Smiling a little at the man across from him, John nods quietly and shrugs out of his jacket, relaxing a little. "So. You're right, as always. I'm more worried about where you go, that you come back so injured." he says as he looks at Sherlock, glancing him over. "Speaking of, have your ribs fully healed?" He asks as he looks at the other man in concern.

"Yes. They're fine." Sherlock reassures, and then considers. "In University, I started to realize that it would be a good idea to keep myself in good physical condition. I initially chose boxing and branched out from there." he says, glancing at the menu briefly for a moment before he puts it aside. "I found the fights were actually cathartic." he says before he shrugs. "A few years ago, I found another outlet for the bothersome emotions." He says thoughtfully as he looks at John. "I was planning to attend another.. meeting.. tomorrow night." The words are chosen carefully as he looks around the cafe, giving his order after briefly glancing the waitress over, dismissing her in his mind, his attention back on the man in front of him.

Taking all of this in, John considers it as he looks at the detective, giving his order and handing the menu to the waitress with a slightly flirtatious smile, before he looks back at Sherlock. "Meeting?" he asks skeptically as he sits back in his seat, resting one hand on the table, the other hand on his lap, his shoulder having been bothering him a little bit, but nothing too serious.

"I don't believe it would be prudent to speak of it so openly in a public area. It's not precisely legal." Sherlock says quietly as he watches John to gauge his reaction, steepling his hands in front of him and resting his thumbs under his chin in a classic thinking pose.

For a few moments, John just looks at Sherlock, and then he chuckles, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose before he runs a hand up his forehead and through his hair. "Of course it's not." he says with a little smile as he looks at his friend. "Half of what you do is a little bit illegal, Sherlock." he says, sitting back as their food arrives, watching Sherlock closely to make sure he eats before the doctor starts to eat as well.

A little shrug is given from Sherlock as he eats slowly. It's not that he doesn't enjoy eating, he actually enjoys food quite a bit. It's just that he doesn't like what it does to his body, how a full stomach slows down the senses as blood is diverted in order to digest. He prizes his intellect above all else, and really does believe that digestion slows down his mental processes. "You are exaggerating once again, John. It's a very bad habit you should try and curb." He scolds lightly as he eats, sipping the water he got with his meal as he watches the older man intensely.

A glance is given from his food to Sherlock, then John blinks to find himself under such observation. "Would you stop staring at me like that?" he asks, frowning a little. "It's unsettling." he says before he looks back down at his food and finishes it up.

When the food is finally finished, John pays for the meal because as far as he can tell, Sherlock doesn't ever carry money with him, before they head out onto the street. "At the very least, I'm curious about where you disappear to, Sherlock. So I think that I will go to this.. meeting of yours." He offers, smirking a little up at the younger man.

A small nod is given to show his acknowledgement before Sherlock walks to the curb and raises his hand for a taxi. When one pulls up, he opens the door before he looks at John.

"We leave tomorrow, at four."


	2. Chapter 2

At 4pm the next day, having been instructed to wear casual clothes that he can move well in, John waits at the stairs for Sherlock, wearing a comfortable pair of jeans, with a t-shirt and jumper over that. It's a warm enough day that he won't need his jacket, he figures. Instead of his usual boots though, he's put on his trainers. When the detective emerges from his room, the doctor arches an eyebrow since Sherlock is dressed in jeans, trainers and what appears to be an old t-shirt, which he puts his jacket on over.

"I didn't think you owned a pair of jeans." John admits as he looks over the other man, smirking a little. "No wonder, you look about ten years younger." He says with a little laugh before he heads downstairs and out the front door, waiting for the detective.

Huffing slightly as if he were just insulted, Sherlock follows the doctor. "You haven't seen my full wardrobe, John. Unlike Mycroft, I was not born wearing a suit." He notes, forgoing his usual cab to turn and start walking down the street.

Not able to help himself, John bursts out laughing, caught off-guard by that comment coming from the detective, his laughter turns into giggles as he hurries to catch up with Sherlock's long legs. "So are you finally going to tell me where we're going?" He asks as he looks up at the other man, finding this all rather odd, sliding his hands into his pants pockets as he walks.

"By the time I got to Uni, it was clear that I was not well liked, and so felt the need to develop some sort of physical self defense, as annoying as it was. So I took up boxing first, but that was too structured. Instead, I branched out to other forms of self defense, forms of martial arts that would help me disable my opponents in the most efficient way." Sherlock begins to talk as he walks, looking around for a few moments. "It was interesting, and I found the physical activity a little.. cathartic. It was not something I required every day, but when particularly frustrated or particularly.. emotional.. I find the need to resume such activities." He says before he continues. "At times I also used it as a way to pay for drugs. Winning fights." he says as he looks over at John. "I am bringing you to a.. underground fight. That's where I go when I come back injured. I always win." he says with a little smirk as he watches the other man.

John nods as he takes it all in, this being something he's heard of before, and even when he was in the army, they had times where they would have boxing matches or fights like that to relieve the tension of just sitting around or waiting for an attack. So it's not something he's unfamiliar with or that he even morally objects to, so long as all parties are willing participants. Afterall, some people make a good living that way, in the MMA tournaments. He dislikes how injured people can get, especially Sherlock who he considers a close friend, but most of the injuries can be healed over time.

"You never do anything normal, do you?" John asks, a little amused, but looking forward to it a little now that he knows where they're going, looking around the street as he walks beside the taller man. Realizing that, consciously or unconsciously, Sherlock has shortened his strides a little to make it easier for him to keep up, John grins a little and he even chuckles softly as he looks down at the ground for a moment.

Looking over at John, Sherlock grabs his arm gently so they don't run into each other as he turns the corner, dropping his hand away afterward. He's curious as to what John is laughing about but he figures it's just to do with his comment, which he sees no need to respond to. Instead, he lapses into silence and follows the path he always does, which is out of view of CCTV cameras so Mycroft can't possibly follow him.

They walk for another half an hour at a casual pace, working deeper into the older parts of London, staying in the back alleys and side streets, avoiding all CCTV cameras. Finally, they turn a corner and head down some stairs, slipping through a door and down some more, into what appears to be an old tube station that was closed down. Soon they can hear the cheering of people, solid thunks of fists hitting skin.

When John follows Sherlock down the last step, he looks around curiously for a few moments. T here's been a loose 'ring' set up that people are gathered around, looking to be made up of wooden fencing set up in a square, people providing the extra support for it as they cheer for whoever. Off to one side, it's clear there are other fighters warming up, a punching bag with its own stand sitting there being used by a bloke or two.

Not being on the docket, as it were, Sherlock just moves with John to the back of the crowd where they can watch the fight without being crushed by the others. Some are waving little bits of paper around, and John smirks a little. "I should have known, whenever there are events like this gambling sort of goes hand in hand. Is it always down here, or do they move it?" he asks as he looks up at the detective, leaning a little closer in order to be heard.

Sherlock leans down toward John a little in order to hear him, for a moment analyzing the smells. Slightly spicy scent of his aftershave, from this morning, clean scent from his clothes which indicates that he doesn't wear them very often since it's a different detergent than he uses now, slight scent of Earl Grey on his breath from the cup of tea he had before they left, and a rather odd scent from his hair, almost.. vanilla. Did he change shampoos again? Mentally shaking his head to get his mind back on track, Sherlock glances down at the army doctor. "There are three different locations that they use, they set up the schedule at the beginning of every month. If the police wanted to break it up it would be all too easy. But since there aren't normally any serious injuries, there's no reason to want to shut it down. NO reason to know about it, even." He says as he looks around, spotting a few people he knows but he doesn't really acknowledge them.

"Interesting. How do you get on the rotation, then? As a fighter?" John asks curiously, wondering how it works for Sherlock since he doesn't have a certain time or date that he seems to disappear which means there must be a certain amount of spontaneity involved.

"They always have one or two rounds where people from the crowd can get in on the fights against one of the less experienced fighters if they want." Sherlock explains to the doctor before he straightens up a little. "Wanting to test your skills, get out a little of your own aggression, John?" He asks with a little smirk curving his lips.

Crossing his arms over his chest and giving that some serious thought, John watches the fighters in the ring as one of them finally knocks the other down and out. He has such a dual nature, that of a healer and a fighter, and while he is more naturally a healer, that doesn't mean he doesn't have the darker impulses of the hunter, the fighter. Sometimes he does just want to hit something and he admits this may be a little therapeutic, maybe just the one time. It will hurt like hell, he's sure of that, but it doesn't mean it wouldn't be interesting. All of this starts to strike John as a little odd, though, how Sherlock followed him to the gym, then suddenly wants to show him this, suggesting that he participates in the fights.

"Yeah, maybe. And now I'm getting the feeling you just want to see me fight, Sherlock."

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**I think Sherlock really does just want to see how BAMF John is. :D It's useful information, and John is such an enigma to him.**

**Next chapter - Feels! (probably)**

**Thank you for reading, let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

Clasping his hands behind his back casually, Sherlock doesn't even try to deny it. "After seeing your performance at the gym, I am rather curious. If we are to continue working together, I thought it would be wise to understand your strengths and weaknesses in the realm of physical combat. You have scolded me for making assumptions about your participation. Therefore, it seemed logical for you to see for yourself and then make a decision as to whether to participate or not." He says casually as he looks at the fight, smirking slightly as there is a victor.

Shaking his head for a few moments, John just chuckles softly. "The one thing you listen to me about.." he mumbles softly, chuckling a little, before he considers it for a few moments. Most of the people here are younger than him by quite a margin, and the reigning champion is a good ten years younger than he is, in the prime of his life. There is a part of the doctor that wants to pit his skills against the younger man to see how he compares, how he can hold up. That challenge, the need to prove that he's not too old, especially living with someone who is quite a bit younger than he is as well, is probably what prompts him to act.

It has apparently come to the night where the champion will take on all comers, and the person who seems to be organizing this event gets up on a little step stool and calls out for any volunteers to fight the man who has gone through the most recent fight with minimal external damage.

"I will!" John finally calls, raising an arm above his head and sighing. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He mutters under his breath, before he pulls his jumper off over his head and holds it out to Sherlock, before he pulls off the t-shirt he has on underneath, leaving him in a white tanktop he had underneath. It may be somewhat warmer out, as far as London weather goes, but he's still not adjusted to the cooler temperatures as compared to Afghanistan's heat. At least the tanktop covers most of the scar on his shoulder, though it doesn't cover the RAMC tattoo on his shoulder.

The tattoo makes Sherlock's eyebrows go up in surprise as he takes the pieces of clothing from John, though he was surprised the older man even volunteered. considering for a few moments, he walks over closer to the entrance to the ring with John. "Good luck." he says as he stands back from it slightly, but still much closer than they were originally.

Sighing a little, John rolls his shoulders for a moment, shaking out the tension in his arms before he steps into the ring, being told what 'rules' there are, which is mostly to keep the people from fighting dirty and going to the hospital which would bring unwanted attention to them as a whole. He shakes the other man's hand and then steps back, falling into an easy stance and keeping his hands up. He doesn't know what really to expect, but knows a little more than the other will expect from him.

The first few punches catch John off-guard, not because they are painful, but because the moves are so easily telegraphed that he easily dodges and blocks them, throwing a few punches himself and making impact, the smack of skin on skin barely heard above the roaring of the crowd. From there the fight's ferocity only increases. And while his opponent has a decade on him as far as age, John has the advantage as far as skill goes, and he starts to gain the upper hand with solid blows to the other man's stomach and face. He doesn't want to seriously hurt the other man but on the other hand he does want to win the match. Of course, the moment he stepped in the ring, he had to put the doctor side of him aside or he'd never be able to fight in what is a rather brutal way.

As much as the 'referee' warned them about the rules, it seems that John's opponent wasn't listening, or he just really doesn't want to lose his status of 'champion' to the older man and be thought of poorly. Whatever the reason, he gets in close to John, and delivers a blow to his abdomen that is more than just fist on flesh.

When the blow lands, at first John is a little shocked because he feels the thin blade of a knife slide into his skin and muscle before he feels any real pain. Time seems to slow down for a moment as he looks at the face of his attacker and the cold fury that he sees there, the vindictiveness. And then he feels the pain as the man pulls the knife away and stabs him again just for good measure. Stumbling away, John puts a hand over his side, watching the stain spread over his white shirt, and cursing mentally as he tries to put pressure on it but he knows that he's in shock, one part of his brain quickly analyzing the problem, even if he can't seem to make his body react to it.

Pandemonium breaks out as soon as people realize what happened, everyone disappearing into the cracks and alleys and sewers that are all accessible from this underground room. Sherlock stares in horror as he sees what's happening, though, and he pulls out his cell phone with one hand, dialing emergency services before he does anything else. John's attacker, in the meantime, gives him one more vicious kick to the ribs once he falls back onto the ground, adding insult to injury.

It's a good thing Sherlock didn't see that, fighting the crowds to get over to John as he shouts orders at the person he gets from emergency services, giving the address and explanation of how to get down to the room. While he's doing that, he uses John's t-shirt to put it over the wound and apply pressure. "John. John, stay with me." He says in a firm tone as he looks down at the doctor. "I am unsure of what to do, you need to tell me what to do." He says in a firm tone.

Looking up at Sherlock while he coughs a little, wincing. "Possible cracked ribs.. having.. trouble breathing.. Keep pressure.." He gasps a little when Sherlock presses down more, but he nods. "Good.. like that.. have to.. have to stop the bleeding. Don't let me go unconscious." He says as he looks up at Sherlock, before he coughs a little. "Life with you... really is dangerous."

"I said danger.. and here you are." Sherlock says with a tentative smile as he looks down at John. "Stay with me. Please, John." he says in a firm voice, but thankfully he doesn't have long to wait. Once he hears the voices coming close, he looks up. "Here! We're in here!" He yells, staying near John until he is forced to move out of the way of the paramedics.

They get John up onto the gurney and are preparing to take him back to the ambulance when John reaches out almost desperately and grabs onto Sherlock, looking up at him. "He comes with me." he says in a firm tone, not letting go of Sherlock's arm until the others agree to allow the detective to ride in the ambulance, still clutching John's sweater with bloody hands, a bit numb himself.

Sherlock barely has anyone that he cares about and he most certainly has not seen any gravely injured like this right in front of him, so he's having some issues accepting this. Of course he's also very worried about John, trying to stay out of the way of the paramedics as they all get into the ambulance and start speeding off. He looks down at John, cleaning off his hands with a wipe the paramedics give him, before he continues to watch the man in front of him.

"Please. We have much left to do. You haven't heard the end of my newest composition. Don't you dare die."

* * *

**Don't hate me. It's all for the greater good. :D**

**Reviews/comments welcome. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

There's internal bleeding which means John needs surgery, but Sherlock is thankfully allowed to stay since he's on the 'emergency contacts' card that John keeps in his wallet. Once the doctor is out of surgery, the detective sits by his bedside, reaching out to take his hand, two fingers curled around his wrist to keep track of his pulse. He blames himself for the older man's injuries since it was his selfish desires that brought John to that fight, resolving to do whatever he can to make John's recovery easier for him.

It's well into the next day when John wakes up, no one else knowing that he's there so no one comes by to visit. Of course, because of the pain medication and everything, John is still a little out of it as he looks around, spotting Sherlock's head on the bed beside him, seeming to be asleep in a very awkward position. With a slightly loopy smile, he lifts his hand weakly and puts it on top of Sherlock's head, stroking his fingers through the hair, not trusting his voice since his throat feels very dry at the moment.

It doesn't take much for Sherlock to wake up, and he lifts his head a little, not wanting to hurt John by moving his head too fast. "John..." he says before removing the doctor's hand from his hair, laying it on the bed and getting up to pour some water, putting a straw in it. "Careful." he says as he walks over, sliding his hand behind John's neck to help him lift his head so he can drink. "The doctor said that the stabs missed any vital organs but you did have some internal bleeding, two cracked ribs. They had to do surgery to stop the bleeding and they also said you needed to take it easy for a while. Weeks. They didn't give me anything more specific until you woke up." When it seems like John has had enough, Sherlock pulls the cup back and puts it back on the side table, looking down at the doctor. He tries to maintain his cool facade through all of it, but his concern does come through.

After getting some water in him, John feels a little bit better, licking his lips. "How long?" he asks as he looks at the detective, still a little groggy and out of it from the pain meds. "How long was I out?" he clarifies for a moment.

"18 hours, roughly." Sherlock says after he glances at the clock briefly. "You should get some more rest, John." He says as he lays his hand gently on the doctor's wrist, surprised when the older man's hand comes up to grab onto his arm.

The hold on Sherlock's arm is surprisingly strong as well as John looks at him, seeming to be trying to focus on a thought. "I know.. you don't like hospitals, Sherlock." he says as he looks up at him. "Thank you for staying. But you need to go home, change. Get some sleep and food." he says, looking the man over. "You have blood.. on your shirt." he says as he looks at it pointedly. "Go home. Come back tomorrow. Promise me." he says in a firm tone, knowing that Sherlock will always keep his promises but that there's no way he can make the detective do anything in his state.

Looking down at himself as if he didn't realize what he looked like, Sherlock frowns a little as he looks at his ruined t-shirt, and then nods slowly. "I promise, John. I will go home as soon as you go back to sleep." he says as he looks at the older man, sitting down and waiting until John settles down and is back to sleep before he gets up, actually attempting to be polite as he asks a nurse to notify him if anything changes with John, before he gets a cab home, throwing away his shirt before showering, finding some leftovers to eat and collapsing on his bed.

Sherlock's mind only lets him get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep however before he starts to have a nightmare about the fight, about John getting stabbed but instead of just being taken off to the hospital, he starts to die in Sherlock's arms. Jerking awake from the nightmare, Sherlock sits bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily, confused and disturbed by the nightmare. Deciding he does not want that sort of dream again, he showers and dresses before he goes to John's room, a place he normally is not allowed in. However, this is a special occasion, and he knows how John gets cold, so he grabs a few of the man's jumpers, putting them in what appears to be a gym bag that he found in the closet.

After finishing with the jumpers, he finds a few of John's favorite books and adds them to the bag. He can tell which ones are his favorites by the worn edges and the bends in the spine from where they've been repeatedly opened and read. He's not exactly sure what else John might want, so for now he contents himself with that, making sure to stop and get himself something else to eat before he heads back to the hospital, happy that the nurse informs him that John only partially woke up once, and seemed happy to know that Sherlock had gone home. He managed to eat a little something before passing out again. Content with that for now, Sherlock settles into the guest chair next to John's bed, pulling out his phone to start fiddling with it for something to do, solving a few cold cases for Lestrade as he waits.

It's a few more hours before John wakes again, a little more coherent this time as he blinks his eyes open. "Sherlock." he says, clearing his throat. "Did you get any sleep?" He immediately asks as he takes in the seemingly tired appearance.

"A few hours." Sherlock says before he gets up to get John some more water, holding it for him, using the electronic controls on the bed to sit him up a little more when he seems to want to be in a less horizontal position. "How are you feeling?" He tries to be polite as his eyes look over the doctor's prone form.

John considers after he takes a few more long drinks of water. "Fuzzy headed." he says as he looks at Sherlock. "But that's from the pain medication. I felt like this after I got shot. I hate it. You're going to hate it. You think I'm slow normally, I'm worse like this." He says quietly with a little sigh, closing his eyes briefly before he blinks them open again to look up at the detective. "Surprised you're sitting here. Thought you'd get too bored." he says as he shifts, wincing a little. The pain meds are good, but they don't help with the sharp pain of moving the wrong way.

"I'm fine, John." Sherlock says as he returns to his seat and sits back, "I brought you some books and your horrible jumpers, in case you're bored or cold, respectively." he says as he looks down at his mobile phone, tapping away on it for a few moments, trying not to make that big of a deal of his presence. "You need the medication, despite the diminishing of your intellect." he says before he looks up at John. "I intend to spend the majority of my time here until you are released, in case there's anything that you need, since they have not given your phone back, you may need to purchase a new one." He says with a small frown as he considers that, not knowing why he didn't consider it earlier.

Making a small noise that could mean practically anything, John watches Sherlock closely. "They'll probably give it to me when I'm released. It's a bit like prison, like that. But it keeps personal effects from being stolen.." he mumbles softly as he looks around. "Where are we?" he asks in a distracted way.

"St Bart's." Sherlock says simply, shifting slightly in the uncomfortable chair before he finishes tapping away at his phone and slides it into the inside pocket of his jacket, turning his attention back to the doctor in front of him.

This seems to confuse John, or at least something confuses him before he frowns slightly as he looks at Sherlock. "Why are you tolerating the boredom of sitting here, Sherlock? You don't... feel responsible for this, do you? It wasn't your fault.." He notes as he turns his attention back to the detective more fully.

Sherlock frowns briefly at John before his expression smooths out. "As ever you cannot see the simple things in front of you. Of course it is my fault. I suggested going there and that you join the fight. You would not have been put in that situation were it not for me." he says simply as he watches John. "I intend to stay here in case you are in need of anything. I've already solved two cold cases for Lestrade, and he has no active ones for me." he says with a small shrug. "Therefore, being here is a better use of my time." he says dismissively as he sits back in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Oh, Sherlock.." John mumbles, giving a small shake of his head before he smiles, opening his eyes to look at the younger man.

"You are such an idiot sometimes."

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**Phew. I was blocked there for a bit on this, but two one-shots later, and I am back in the groove, woot! This is going to be more difficult for me to write than the others, I can tell, but I am looking forward to the challenge! :D**

**I hope you all are enjoying this so far, please let me know what you think! Reviews/comments welcome!**


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next few days while John continues to be held under observation, he gets used to waking up and seeing Sherlock sitting beside him, to the point where he's a little disappointed when he wakes up and the detective isn't there for whatever reason. Usually having gone home to change, shower, sleep or eat. It's not like John has a predictable sleep schedule right now with the medication that he's on to counteract pain and the antibiotics and everything.

The day he's finally released to go home - only because he's a doctor and was starting to throw a fit at being held so long - the doctor is still in quite a bit of pain as he gets wheeled out to the curb after dressing the best that he could. He manages to get in the cab with Sherlock's help, even if he is a little suspicious of how the detective is hovering.

Once settled, Sherlock gives the address to the cabbie, looking at John in concern. "Are you sure that you should be out so soon? It's just been a few days. I've gotten instructions from the doctors on how to care for the bandages and your medication." He says before he looks at the older man. "And I intend to keep you on the regimen I was given." he announces as he sits back in his seat, as if that automatically means that he will be obeyed.

A small laugh turns into a wince and a slight cough which only causes John to hiss in pain, and he shakes his head. "Don't make me laugh, Sherlock." He says with a little smile as he looks over at the detective. "Trust me, I'll take my meds, I just couldn't stand that bloody hospital any more. I spent enough time in one when I was invalided home." he says with another small shake of his head. "I'll be fine, risk of infection is minimal at this point with how many antibiotics that I have coursing through me, and the length of time since the surgery. There's not much more they could do." he says with a small shake of his head.

Content that despite everything, John knows what he's talking about, Sherlock nods and falls silent, staring out the window, getting a little lost in his own thoughts, clutching at the pill bag that he has in one hand, pulling out his phone to send a quick text at one point before it disappears into his jacket again.

When they get back to Baker Street, Sherlock hurries around to help John out of the cab, paying for the ride before he hovers near John, one hand on his lower back, the other supporting under his elbow as he helps the older doctor toward the door, unlocking it, and then up the steps to the flat, where he helps John to lay down on the couch. "Is that alright? Do you need anything, pillows, a blanket maybe? It's awful drafty in this room, Mrs. Hudson really should have that fixed.." he frets quietly as he looks around, then goes to the kitchen and starts to make tea, from the sounds of it.

A little shocked at this behavior from the younger detective, John shakes his head a little. "You don't have to hover, Sherlock. My lungs work just fine, I will yell if there's something I need." He reassures with a little smile, grabbing the remote off the table before he turns on the TV and settles in. "A blanket would be nice though. It is a bit drafty." He agrees as he looks to the kitchen where the detective went, wondering what he's doing.

It soon becomes apparent though as Sherlock comes back with a mug of tea, walking over to put it within easy reach of John, looking quite proud of himself actually. "At least the food will be much better here." he says before he takes a blanket off the back of the couch and spreads it over John carefully, making sure to tuck it around his feet so they don't get cold, absently reaching up to brush some hair off John's forehead, resting his cool hand against the older man's skin for a moment before he pulls it away, content as he straightens, standing there nervously before he makes a decision, sitting on the floor next to the couch and leaning his head back against the edge, being sure that he won't hit John in any painful places.

For a few minutes John just stares, a little surprised about this side of Sherlock that he didn't even know existed. He takes his tea and sips it slowly, finding it to be exactly how he likes it, which surprises him even more as he sets the hot mug down again. And once Sherlock sits on the floor, he rolls his eyes. "Sherlock. You don't need to hover." He repeats before moving one hand to rest it against that ridiculous mop of hair Sherlock has, sinking his fingers into the strands slowly for a moment before he pulls his hand back.

"Mmmm." Sherlock hums wordlessly, closing his eyes for a few moments. "It's not for your benefit but my own, John." he says brusquely, shifting before he adds, "Do that again." In a more demanding tone, tilting his head back a little.

A little surprised, John shakes his head for a few moments. "What, no one's ever played with your hair before? Blimey, I would have thought your lovers would have gone for it straight away." He muses, sounding a little confused, but he slides his hand into the silky strands again, stroking through them and twisting a lock around his fingers for a moment. He's always had a thing for thick hair, and he's been curious about Sherlock's for a while. Honestly, he can't see Sherlock in any sort of relationship, but he figures that the man must have had a sexual encounter or two, given his general curiosity about pretty much everything.

Clearing his throat, Sherlock takes a deep breath. "No one has ever.. played with my hair." he says as he avoids the question of lovers, or at least he hopes he does. He's not exactly comfortable discussing it, since people seem to want to know more and more information about it and he has no desire to talk about that part of his life with anyone.

"Wonder why. I'm not even into that sort of thing with blokes, but I've been curious what your hair felt like. It's bloody ridiculous, Sherlock." He says with a little laugh, "Course, I've always been a sucker for hair. Legs and.. and hair." he says thoughtfully, the medication making him a little loopy and saying things he might not otherwise say. He still continues to run his hand through Sherlock's hair slowly. "I've been told that sometimes it feels rather good, but I've never figure out the appeal, when having it done to me, I mean. I suppose it feels different for different people, some might have sensitive scalps maybe." he mumbles as he watches the television curiously.

Relaxing a little, Sherlock spares a thought for how bad this is, he should be the one taking care of John, this is his chance to prove that he's not a total screw-up, that he is capable of being more human. John's friendship means too much to him for him to lose the doctor over something like this, something that he dragged the younger man into. He frowns a little as he closes his eyes, finally sitting up and forcing himself away from John's hand. As much as he enjoys the attention, he doesn't think he deserves it and he also doesn't want to make things awkward between him and John if he remembers what he's doing. He sighs a little instead, and leans forward to rub his fingertips over his temples before he gets up gracefully in one smooth motion. "You should finish your tea and rest, John." he says with a firm nod of his head, looking anywhere but at the injured form of his best friend, moving away and back to the kitchen to start fiddling with an experiment.

A little disappointed that Sherlock moved away, John lets his hand fall back to the couch before he looks up to where Sherlock went. "I am resting." he objects, but he dutifully picks up the tea and starts to sip it gently.

"I hope your realize how odd you're being right now, Sherlock."

* * *

**Kept listening to the song 'Young and beautiful' from some videos on Youtube while writing this, so it may be a bit different, heh. Good song.**

**Hope you all like it!**

**Reviews/comments welcome!**


	6. Chapter 6

The painkillers kick in not too long after Sherlock starts working on his experiment in the kitchen. When he notices a slight snore coming from the doctor, he can't help but smile a little, slowly getting up and getting another blanket to gently lay over his form, tucking him in carefully before sitting down at the coffee table to watch his friend sleep. He's been doing this a lot over the last few days, but he hasn't gotten tired of it. Nearly losing John because of his own selfishness has made him realize more than a few things. The most important of which is probably that while he has always prized his independence, a certain Dr. John H. Watson has wormed his way into Sherlock's heart to the point that he doesn't want to lose his friend.

After looking at John for a few more moments he gets up and goes to get his violin, glancing at John before he starts to play softly, being sure not to disturb the older man as he stares out the window and just plays whatever comes to him, which means that he skips between pieces that he knows and his own compositions.

It's hours later before Sherlock goes to try and wake John up, knowing he needs to change his bandages and give him his medication. Before he wakes John up, he sets everything he'll need on the table, and then reaches out to shake his shoulder a little. "John." He says quietly, using his free hand to brush some of the older man's hair back slowly from his face.

John slowly wakes, blinking a few times groggily as he looks up at Sherlock. "Mmm.. medication time?" he asks quietly as he looks at Sherlock, hesitating before he slowly forces himself to sit up, wincing a little but hiding most of the pain that causes him.

Sherlock blinks in surprise, catching John by the arms. "Yes, but you shouldn't do that. I need to change your bandages, also." he says before he turns, getting the pills and handing them to John with a glass of water before he pulls on rubber gloves.

Taking the pills and water, John swallows them with a minimum of issues, finishing off the glass of water before he leans forward a bit to put the glass on the coffee table, shifting and wincing as he pulls his t-shirt off, which he really should not be doing.

Frowning and trying to get John to stop, Sherlock helps him get his shirt off. "John. You need to be careful, you don't want to pull stitches." He says in concern and a little bit of annoyance, since he figures that as a doctor, John should know better than to do something stupid like that. But he does pull off the bandage slowly, wiping some disinfectant over the area around the wounds before he gets another bandage and secures it there, before he tilts his head and looks at the bruising where his cracked ribs were, just to make sure they don't seem any worse.

"It's fine, Sherlock. As you pointed out, I'm a doctor. I know how I can move and how I shouldn't move." John says as he watches Sherlock, a little irritable, but keeping one arm raised a little to allow Sherlock to do what he has to do with his bandaging. "I should eat something.. shouldn't take the medicine on an empty stomach." He says before he shifts a little and slowly stands up.

Concerned once again, Sherlock stands with John, putting his hands out to hold John's arms to help him. "John." he says in a warning tone as he looks at the soldier, knowing that it is that attitude that is driving the older man now, the attitude that he doesn't want to show weakness, but also that he can push through everything. The same sort of idea that would have made him put aside his own needs in order to tend to his patients when he was deployed.

Looking at Sherlock with a little bit of annoyance, John sighs. "I have to use the bathroom, Sherlock. I am not letting you follow me in there. You've got to give me some dignity." He sighs a little. "Just... order some food or something please." He says as he stiffly moves by Sherlock to head toward the bathroom.

Feeling helpless and worried over John, Sherlock can do little more than watch him go, seeing the tension across his shoulders, and the pain in the way he holds himself. Deciding to do something a little more personal, Sherlock moves toward the kitchen, getting out pans and such, and then pulling food out of the fridge. Like so many other things, it's not that Sherlock is incapable of cooking, it's just that he doesn't like to, it takes too much time. But he is perfectly capable since it's just recipes, formulas, and chemistry. All things he is normally good at anyway.

By the time John comes out from the bathroom, he finds Sherlock in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, making what appears to be some sort of stir fry, from the looks of it. He hasn't bothered to retrieve another shirt, so he stands in the doorway and stares at Sherlock, everything else forgotten. "Wait. You know how to cook?" He asks as he stares at the detective.

"Of course I do. It's simple, recipes and chemistry. I just see no need in it most of the time, with so many places around here to eat, and considering I don't need to eat very often." Sherlock says in his normal dismissive tone though he knows John disapproves of his diet. And he is no doubt going to make a fuss, but there's nothing that Sherlock can do about that, so he just prepares himself for the speech.

But all that comes from John is a little sigh before he walks over and starts making some tea, wincing a little as he reaches up for mugs and the tea, leaning against the counter a little afterward to brace himself and try and push the pain away.

Sherlock has had just about enough of John being stupid, so he turns down the temperature on the food, then he grabs John's arm. "That is enough, John. It's been less than a week since you were stabbed, you cannot push yourself like this." He says before practically dragging John over to the couch to push him down a little until he sits down. "If you don't take care of yourself, I will drug you unconscious, John. I know how to do it safely." He threatens as he looks at the doctor, watching him for a moment before he returns to the kitchen to tend to the food and make the tea.

It seems like John is going to object, but finally he nods an sits down on the couch carefully. "Alright, fine. I'll be more careful, but I'm not going to be an invalid, Sherlock." He says as he watches the detective move away, hating to be coddled in any way, and not liking to be seen as weak. Not a good combination when all he really needs to do is heal.

A snort comes from the detective as he brings back from tea, then looks at John. "Should I remind you of those words the next time I am injured and do not want to take it easy?" Sherlock asks as he looks down at the doctor, leaving him with the tea and sipping his own before he returns to the kitchen, finishing everything up and taking down two plates to dish out the rice, vegetables and meat that he cooked, carrying them and his tea carefully out to the living room, handing John his plate before he sits down beside him. "I want you to get better quickly, John. I know you feel the same way about me when I am injured, so I know you can understand." he says awkwardly as he looks at his plate, starting to eat.

Starting to eat as well, John looks at the tellie and he nods. "I understand, Sherlock. But I'm not going to be an easy patient. I'll do my best." he says as he looks over at Sherlock for a few moments, then he smiles softly, and shifts, wincing a little and closing his eyes for a few moments, before he looks back down at the food. "This is brilliant, Sherlock. I wish you would cook more often. If there's one thing that might come out of my being injured that might be good is you cooking more." He says hopefully with a smirk over at Sherlock.

Meeting John's gaze for a few minutes, Sherlock tilts his head as he chews his mouthful, only responding after he's swallowed, which gives him some time to think of his response.

"I will cook on days you are not being a horrible patient."

* * *

**Sherlock has hidden depths! And there's a little bit of bribery right there. Poor John does not like being injured. I hope you all enjoy this! This took me a bit longer today to write, and I'm sorry I haven't been updating as much as I did on previous stories. I have vacation next week though, so hopefully I will get a lot of writing done! :D**

**Reviews/comments welcome!**


	7. Chapter 7

After dinner, John was forced to sit by again as Sherlock took away the dishes and at least rinsed them off enough to put them in the dishwasher, before returning to the living room in order to hand John the remote to the television. After, the detective steps over to sit down at his desk to open his own laptop - for once - in order to check his blog and see if there are any small jobs he can do without leaving Baker Street. He is sure that if he leaves, John will take it upon himself to do what he needs to do, rather than asking for help or just waiting to do it later.

Watching the younger man for a few moments, John finally relaxes the best he can on the couch while still sitting up, not wanting to lay down again so soon because he knows he will end up falling asleep again in fairly short order if he does. And of course, despite their previous conversation, John does not want to be coddled and he does intend to push himself a little, but maybe not as much as he might have, had Sherlock not expressed worry over his well being. Then there was the cooking which was shocking but good. Sure, he might not have know the brunette for that long, but he keeps finding out new things about him that make the doctor re-evaluate what he knows about his flatmate.

Still, John knows that Sherlock means well about him taking it easy and as a doctor, he also knows the wisdom of resting, but the soldier in him does not want to be weak, and keeps wondering what will happen to a certain consulting detective if he doesn't get better soon. Considering that said detective is a brilliant madman. John can only hope that his injury and Sherlock's concern - as well as his guilt - will keep him from doing something extraordinarily guilty.

Aware that he is being watched by the doctor but deciding not to give anything away, Sherlock continues to look through his site, answering a few inquiries before he opens an email to one client requesting more information. Only after that is done does he risk a look over at John, who appears to be getting close to the point of drifting off. And that makes him consider the sleeping situation. John should not be climbing the stairs in his state, which means that there is only one logical choice.

"John. You need to rest, you can use my bed until you're healed, I can sleep on the couch if I need to. I sleep there more often than not anyway." Sherlock states as he gets up smoothly from his chair and steps over to where John is sitting on the couch, blinking up at him sleepily.

Shaking his head a little, John takes a deep breath which makes him wince. "No." He says firmly. "I am perfectly capable of climbing one flight of bloody stairs, Sherlock." He says as he wakes himself up a little more. "I am not taking over your room on top of everything else." He says quietly as he starts to lean forward to get up.

Grabbing him by the arm, Sherlock helps him to stand before he sighs. "John." He says in a firm tone, grabbing both of his arms and ducking down a little to get his attention. "Climbing the stairs will only aggravate your injuries. My bed is closer, and more comfortable. I only occasionally use it. When I do sleep, more often or not I sleep on the couch." He says as he looks as his doctor. "There is no reason for you to not use my room for at least a few days to see how you're feeling." He says as he squeezes John's arms gently to try and convey his seriousness.

Too tired to fight Sherlock at the moment, John nods quietly, lifting his hands and touching Sherlock's elbows gently. "Alright, alright… Christ, you are a mother hen." He mumbles softly, then adds, "I'm too tired to fight you, I'll fight you in the morning." He decides before he sighs a little. "And to add to your ego.. My ribs are killing me. Could you help me?" he asks as he motions toward the bedroom vaguely. "I can walk on my own. It's just the.. sitting down and stuff." He says awkwardly, wanting to make it quite clear that he is not a complete invalid. It's just sitting down and laying down take more abdominal muscles than you might think.

Relaxing a little now that John is accepting his help, Sherlock nods and he walks back to the bedroom, clearing up some papers and such that he had left along the floor. Besides those papers though, his room is very neat and clean, moreso than any other part of the flat. Of course, he said it himself, that he doesn't spend a lot of time in his bedroom so that may be the reason, but it may also be that this being his most private space he needs it organized to keep his mind straight.

At a slower pace, John follows, one hand cradled across his stomach before he stops in the doorway to the room, looking around. "Wow. That's a lot more neat than I was expecting." He says quietly as he walks over to the bed slowly, glad that he's already in his pajama pants and doesn't have to worry about changing. That is going to get annoying. And there is no way in hell that John is going to ask for help with that, so he'll just have to suck it up.

Walking over to the bed, Sherlock pulls back the covers before he steps in front of John. He's not exactly sure how to help without hurting John worse, so he just frowns a little. "How do I help?" He finally says as he holds his hands out toward John a little, frustrated at his lack of experience and lack of knowledge in this area.

John can't help but smile a little at Sherlock, chuckling lightly which makes him wince a little. "Ok.. just.. Try and hold up as much weight as you can.." he says as he takes Sherlock's hands and puts them beneath his arms, reaching out to grab Sherlock's arms in return, looking at him before he slowly lowers himself to the bed, letting out a relieved breath. "Yeah, that was easier.." he says with a nod of his head, then he sighs. "Same thing with laying down.. Put your arm behind my shoulders, it's the easiest way to support a person's weight." He offers as he looks up at the detective.

Slowly and awkwardly, Sherlock lowers John down to the bed, then he moves around and puts one arm behind John's shoulders, letting the doctor surrender his weight. Even though he's lean he's surprisingly strong, probably as evidenced by the fact that he even went to a mixed martial arts underground fighting in the first place, while coming back with only minimum injuries. So he's able to handle laying John back on the bed, then lifting his legs into the bed and pulling the blankets over him. For a moment, he perches on the edge of the bed as he watches the older man. "Is there anything you need?" He asks slowly, hovering a little maybe, but he wants to make sure his friend is comfortable before he leaves him to sleep. He still thinks it's his responsibility and that it's his fault for John getting hurt.

Sighing a little, John reaches out and puts his hand over one of Sherlock's, giving him a little smile. "A glass of water would be nice, but otherwise I'm fine, Sherlock.." He reassures with a little smile, giving his hand a little squeeze. "You don't have to worry so much. I'll be fine. There's no danger now, I just need to heal. So stop hovering." He says, sounding a little annoyed, but it's counteracted by the smile on his face. "Just try to keep the music down, hm?" He offers with another little smirk. The last thing he needs is a midnight serenade, or Sherlock making his violin sound like he's killing a cat.

A small nod is given, and Sherlock looks down at John's hand on his, turning his hand over and giving John's hand a proper squeeze. "I'll do my best." He says with a faint smile before he gets up swiftly and strides out of the room, coming back a few minutes later with a glass of water which he puts down on the bedside table, within easy reach of John. "Sleep well." He says after a moment, turning off the lights before he walks back into the living room, closing the door behind him. He then looks down at his hand that John had taken a hold of, rubbing his thumb along his fingertips for a few moments before he heads over to the couch, rearranging some cushions before he lays down and folds his hands under his chin to visit his mind palace and figure out what's going on, why he is having so many issues with his emotions when he's had a good hold on them for so long.

When he arrives in the entrance to his Mind Palace, Sherlock looks up at the stone building in front of him, taking a deep breath and giving his arms and shoulders a little shake to settle himself before he puts his hands on the large wooden doors and pushes them open. For a moment he looks around and then starts wandering through the building, which has various different schemes. Some of it looks medieval, some of it looks like an industrial building, other hallways look almost like an upscale hotel. It all depends on what part of his life it was created in. For now he heads to the second level and down one of the hotel hallways, a 'softer' part of the palace where anything remotely emotional gets stored. What he finds there however is somewhat of a shock to him, and makes him stop in his tracks.

John, or at least a representation of him, is leaning with his back against one of the walls, wearing his boots, jeans and a jumper over a button-up shirt. His hands are in the pockets of his jeans, thumbs hanging over the edges. And for a moment he stares at the ground in front of his feet, one leg bent with his foot flat against the wall behind him. When Sherlock gets closer, he looks up and gives his close-lipped smile. "Sherlock. There you are. Quite a place you've got here." He says as he looks around for a few moments, pushing away from the wall to walk over toward the detective.

This is not the first time he's had a representation of someone he knows wandering around his Mind Palace. They are usually contained to their own special rooms however. Mrs. Hudson is confined to a wing that looks much like 221B, Lestrade mans the room that has all his cold or unsolved cases, Mycroft holds court over childhood memories. Only once or twice has he ever had someone wandering around his Mind Palace in general, and never has he had someone who he did not specifically create, wandering around. This is a new development, something that his mind has done without his permission and that is downright worrying for the detective. His mind is something he has always had control over, and always been able to keep orderly, even if nothing else in his life was orderly.

"John. What are you doing here?" Sherlock asks, quite frankly confused, and he doesn't like that feeling at all. Slowly, he looks the doctor over, but everything is very typical about him. His clothes, his stance, his hair, it's all something that he could see on any given day when he looks at the older man.

"Exploring a bit." John says vaguely as he looks around for a few moments, then he turns his attention back to the detective, nodding a little as he takes in the general look of the man. "Right. You're not used to this, are you?" he asks with a little chuckle. "Think of me as your subconscious, Sherlock." He says with a little smile as he watches the younger man. "You've been ignoring some things for far too long." He states as he looks Sherlock over for a few moments. "And I represent everything that you've been holding back, suppressing, and denying yourself. Natural things. Things that, believe it or not, you need and you want." He says as he reaches out and he takes Sherlock's hand the way he had in reality not too long ago, demonstrating his point before he drops his hand. "Think of me as your mind's own psychiatrist." He offers, walking down the hallway a bit to look out one of the windows.

Intrigued but confused, Sherlock rubs his thumb along his fingers again for a moment before he follows this figment of his imagination. "You are saying that my subconscious mind created you in order to help me deal with what brought me here in the first place." He says slowly as he approaches the older man, clasping his hands behind his back as he continues to watch him.

The figment-John looks up and over at Sherlock, smiling a little and nodding as he tilts his head up a little in order to look into Sherlock's eyes. After a moment, he gives a cheeky smile.

"And you got it in one. No wonder people say you're a genius."

* * *

**Ok.. This came out of nowhere. But I am very interested to seeing where it's going! :D Hope you guys enjoy where this is going as well! Also, I am sooooo sorry for not updating sooner! Longer days at work mean that I can't update all of my stories as quickly as I want. I'm a little disappointed in myself. Especially since I have had an idea for yet a different Sherlock story, lol. Not sure if I will post it or not, though. Next week I have vacation though, so I should be able to get lots of writing done! :D Thanks to everyone who is sticking with my erratic posting patterns. :D**

**Reviews/comments welcome!**


	8. Chapter 8

"Why would talking to myself help me solve any problems?" Sherlock asks skeptically as he looks at the image of John. "I would have done just as well on my own, here.." He points out as he motions toward the plush carpet and richly decorated hallway that holds the rooms on emotional matters.

John chuckles a little and smiles as he looks out of the window for a few moments. "You would have been talking to yourself anyway. Frankly, I'm kind of pissed at being ignored for so long." He says as he glances at Sherlock. "You are basically a bloody Vulcan. And yes, you've absorbed more popular culture than you'd like to believe. You've suppressed your emotions, and any desires that go with it. You think they're useless but they're not." He points out as he looks at Sherlock. "You understand emotions but you don't feel them." Poking the younger man in the chest, he sighs a little and shakes his head. "It's a very lonely way to live your life."

Normally Sherlock's response would be to tell John how he lives his life is none of his business. But since this John is apparently a manifestation of his subconscious, it really is his business in a way. That's frustrating. Instead, he just frowns at him, clasping his hands behind his back. "I am not that effective at suppressing my emotions. Otherwise you wouldn't be here, and I would not be here seeking answers." He points out as he watches the other man, getting restless before he starts to walk down the corridor slowly.

Turning to follow, John shakes his head for a few moments. "Don't lie to yourself, Sherlock." He says with a little chuckle as he follows the detective, looking around for a few moments. "Why don't you tell me what you came here for? You had questions, right?" he asks as he looks at Sherlock.

"John is bothersome." Sherlock says simply, glancing over at the facsimile next to him. "Caring is not an advantage. I have not known him long, but when he almost died, I was.. afraid." he says quietly as he continues walking, not really having a destination in mind. "I was very distraught at the idea of John dying. When he's in pain it worries me. I cannot focus on the Work." he says with frustration, shaking his head for a few moments. "And it's my fault John is like this. This must be what my brother meant when he said caring is not an advantage. But I can't put aside my friendship with John." He says in a frustrated tone, stepping through a doors onto a balcony that look out over a garden that surrounds the palace, and beyond that is a broken and scarred landscape.

Following him outside, John crosses his arms over his chest. "Then don't. Don't put it aside." He says simply, shrugging. "You need to deal with your feelings and accept them. You are worried because you care about John's well being. You care about someone." He emphasizes to make sure the point hits home with Sherlock, leaning forward a little to look at him. "It's not a sin. There's no shame in caring about someone." He points out again as he continues to watch the detective. Sighing and shaking his head, the shorter man tries to figure out how to convince Sherlock's logical mind. "You should embrace your friendship with John. He's already been beneficial to the Work, right? You haven't passed out from hunger since he started living with you, you don't collapse in general. Therefore, having him around and having him as a friend is beneficial to you. And it follows that if he's beneficial to you, he is even more beneficial to the Work. And you're all about the Work." He points out with a slightly smug expression.

Sherlock seriously considers everything his subconscious mind, in the form of the very problem that brought him here, has just told him. And it does all seem to make a certain sense. Having John around has been beneficial. And having him around means having him as a friend. Perhaps all of his stress is over nothing, then, and he should do as his subconscious suggests and just embrace the fact that he has someone to care about and someone who is willing to put up with him. Slowly, he turns toward the smaller man, watching him for a few moments. "Maybe you're right, John. Having a friend isn't detrimental to the Work. I believe I will do all I can to keep this friendship."

Unfortunately no other conversation can be had, because he hears something going on in the real world that pulls Sherlock out of his Mind Palace. It's not until he opens his eyes though that he realizes the sound is coming from his bedroom. Getting up a little stiffly, Sherlock stretches briefly before he hurries down the hall to his bedroom, tilting his head as he pushes open the door, only to find John - the real John - asleep, but apparently with the beginnings of a nightmare. It's possible that between the injuries and being a partial invalid again it brought up some old memories. In the hospital the drugs probably kept him sedated enough, but the ones that he was given prescriptions for were not as strong, at John's own request. He didn't want to risk getting addicted to stronger opiates. That, and he was afraid of having them around Sherlock.

Concerned that he might pull out the stitches that he has or hurt himself further, Sherlock moves over to the bed and he hesitates, sitting on the edge. "John." He says in a firm tone, reaching out to grasp the older man's shoulders and give him a firm little shake. "John!"

With a gasp, John wakes up, arms coming up to grab onto Sherlock's as his head lifts up off the pillow, though thankfully the detective's arms keep him in place otherwise. "Sherlock..?" he says in a surprised, breathless tone as he stares up at the younger man. Taking a few deep breaths which make him wince a little each time but are necessary to him calming down, John tries to settle his mind, eyes darting around the room and taking in his surroundings to convince himself that he is safe at Baker Street.

"It's alright, John. You're in Baker Street. You're safe." Sherlock reassures, waiting until he's sure that John has settled more before he releases the doctor's shoulders and sits up a little more. Thinking of something he might be able to do that he's seen on the tellie, he gets up and goes to the bathroom, coming back with a damp, cool cloth to wipe the sweat off of John's forehead slowly, eyebrows drawn together in a very concerned look.

Caught off-guard by the caring gesture coming from Sherlock of all people, John is completely distracted from his nightmare as he frowns up at Sherlock. "What are you doing?" he asks in surprise, even if it might feel good, though it's not like he can move away with his ribs in the condition that they are.

"Isn't this right?" Sherlock asks, truly uncertain as he stops the motions. "I saw it on a show once, it seemed a suitable way to comfort.." he says slowly as he considers it. "I doubt talking about it will help, but if you wish you could do that as well." he decides, while he sounds a little bored or dismissive.

John shakes his head a little, slowly. "No, it's fine.." He says quietly with a light chuckle. "Just wasn't expecting that sort of thing from you." He says quietly with another little smile and a slow shake of his head, looking a little amused before he winces, putting a hand over his bandaged side.

"Yes, that was quite obvious." Sherlock says before he hesitates, turning the cloth around in his hand for a moment before he reaches out to wipe a fresh spot over John's forehead again slowly once the older man says that it's alright.

"Well. You are my friend, John. It's the least I can do to help."

* * *

**Sherlock's mind works in mysterious ways. :) So cute though! Sometimes Sherlock just needs a little kick. I think someone else may need to bring some fresh air in the next chapter. Maybe Mrs. Hudson or somebody. :)**

**Reviews/comments welcome!**


	9. Chapter 9

After John gets back to sleep, Sherlock returns to the couch and decides it might be a good idea for him to try and get some sleep as well so John doesn't use up all his energy trying to make sure Sherlock is getting enough rest, etc. So he lays down on the couch, curling up on his side and drifting off.

What he doesn't realize is he sleeps longer and more deeply than he means to, with John waking up long before he does. Seeing the detective asleep, John gets himself up, showered, and slowly dressed in something somewhat decent, as well as changing his bandage and getting himself the pills he needs to take. He gets out to the kitchen about the time Mrs. Hudson steps into the flat.

"Oh, John! Are you supposed to be up and about? You had us all so very worried, that was terrible, a mugging like that, coming out of nowhere. I worry about you two, the way you're always running about.." Mrs. Hudson says as she bustles in with a tray that has tea and some pastries on it. "I made too many of these this morning and I thought you two might appreciate something home cooked, especially you, John. Oh, you look a bit pale, dear, maybe you should sit down." She says as she pulls the chair out for him to sit down in and makes him a cup of tea. "Where is Sherlock, then? He hasn't run out on you, has he?"

Smiling a little at the elderly, motherly woman, John slowly sits down in the seat and lets out a slow breath. "I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson. I won't be running after anyone anytime soon, but I'll be just fine." he reassures, patting her hand gently before he takes the tea from her to take a drink. "And yes, I do appreciate the food. Sherlock is sleeping, I thought it best to let him get all the sleep he can, he never seems to get enough, and there's nothing that I can't do for myself at the moment." he says with a one-shouldered shrug. Sure, he can do everything himself, with a certain amount of pain involved in it. It just depends on how much pain he's willing to endure and how far he can push himself before he starts tearing stitches and such.

"Oh, well, that's good. Poor dear, he's been so worked up about you getting hurt, John. I think he blames himself, though I don't know why, the way he described it, it was nothing more than an accident. You just yell if you need anything, John, alright?" Mrs. Hudson says as she pats his shoulder with a little smile. "You just get your rest, and don't worry about a thing." she reassures before she bustles off back down to her apartment.

Shaking his head slowly as he watches Mrs. Hudson go, John smiles as he eats his pastry and sips at his tea before he slowly forces himself to get up and get himself another cup of tea from the tray Mrs. Hudson brought, making Sherlock one as well before he starts to walk to the living room with them. "Sherlock.. time to get up." He says as he looks down at the mop of hair that is buried in the pillow.

With a small grunt, Sherlock wakes up to the smell of tea nearby, and he sighs a little before he stiffly rolls onto his back and stretches his legs out and arms above his head, essentially putting his long body on display along with a patch of skin where his shirt pulls away from the waist of his trousers. "John." he says in surprise after opening his eyes. "You're supposed to rest, you shouldn't be up and around." he says with concern as he swiftly gets up.

John just shakes his head and offers the tea to Sherlock as he looks up at him. "I'll be alright. Besides, someone was taking up the entire couch. I'll sleep in my own bed tonight." he says firmly as he looks at the detective, sipping his own tea as he thinks about the events of the night before, with his nightmare and Sherlock's oddly caring actions.

"Given that you had nightmares last night and could very well have injured yourself had I not been there to wake you up, I think it would be wise if you remained staying in my room for the time being." Sherlock insists as he looks at the older man, sipping at his own tea, happy that it's exactly how he likes it. "Ah. I see Mrs. Hudson brought something to eat while I was asleep." He says as he moves toward the kitchen slowly, then turns to look at John. "Sit down and rest." He says in a firm tone as he points toward the couch.

Rolling his eyes, John very carefully lowers himself down to the couch, letting out a soft breath with a small wince, resting there for a few moments before he leans back against the couch cushions slowly, relaxing before he takes another drink of his tea. "This is going to get old fast." he says quietly with a small shake of his head. "No cases on the website I take it?" He asks as he looks over at where Sherlock is.

Picking up a pastry that Mrs. Hudson brought, Sherlock shakes his head. "No. I've been looking for things I can do without leaving Baker Street." He says as he comes back into the living room and sits down in his chair, putting his feet up on John's chair slowly.

"You don't have to do that, Sherlock. I can move around on my own, even if I'm a bit slower than I normally am. Plus, I know how bored you're going to get otherwise, and I can't exactly go for a walk if you get me angry." He points out as he watches the detective. "So do us both a favor, and take a case that will get you out of the flat." He can tell he's already getting frustrated with being coddled by Sherlock. He was tetchy with the nurses when he was in rehab for his shoulder as well, he hated being treated like an invalid, even though he technically was one. Doesn't mean he has to like it.

Looking over at John, Sherlock just observes him for a moment before he smiles a little for a few moments. "Yes, John." He says with a smirk, finishing his food before he gets up and heads toward the bathroom without another word, the sound of the shower audible to the quiet flat.

"Well that was a little odd.." John mutters softly before he gets and goes to get his laptop, winded as he sits there for a few moments, then opens the laptop to check his email and such which he hasn't in over a week, so this should be interesting. As expected, he has a lot of email to sort through, and a lot of spam. There are some cases that are posted to his blog that he leaves up for Sherlock to put at, then he starts writing something for his blog about being injured, but quickly erases it, not wanting people to think he's out of commission or anything like that. Instead he just stares at the screen, not sure what to do or if he should write anything.

When Sherlock comes out of the shower, he only has a towel wrapped around his waist, a smaller towel being used to rub his hair dry as he trudges into the bedroom and closes the door, but it's enough for John to get an eyeful for a minute. And a few minutes later Sherlock comes out dressed, his hair still mostly wet but in some semblance of order, as much as his hair ever gets. "Anything on your blog?" he asks with a little smile over at his friend.

For a moment John just stares at Sherlock, before he shakes his head, blinking a few times. "Right. A few things." he says with a nod, loading them up and then holding the laptop out to Sherlock, who instead of just taking it, sits down right next to him and puts the laptop on his lap to look it over. "Ugh. Boring." He says as he flips through one.

It's very odd for Sherlock to sit this close to him, so John just looks at him in confusion, but between the medication and the pain, he doesn't think he is really thinking straight. Maybe he's just imagining things. He does notice however that Sherlock smells a little different, almost like he's wearing cologne, but he knows that the detective doesn't wear cologne because he once complained about John wearing it, saying it interfered with the work and everything he sees at a crime scene. Still, he finds himself staring at Sherlock for a moment, leaning a bit closer so their shoulders are pressed together, and he can't keep himself from sniffing at the younger man curiously.

Very slowly, Sherlock turns his head to look at John. "What are you doing, John?" He asks, noticing how close the older man has gotten, he leans away just slightly. "Were you just.. smelling me?" he asks, eyebrows going up in surprise. While that's something that he personally might do, since he has no concept of personal space, it's a little surprising coming from the ever appropriate John Watson.

John hums for a few moments as he watches Sherlock, sniffing slightly again before he gets a slightly confused look on his face.

"Well. Yes I am. You smell.. different. Did you change your shampoo or something? It's.. nice."

* * *

**Ok, Dr. Watson, you need some different drugs or something... you're being strange. :D I always imagine Sherlock uses unscented stuff, so for him to smell like shampoo or anything would be unusual. And Sherlock, well.. he's just made up his mind to stop being so awkward around John. Maybe. Well. Mostly. We'll see. :D Thanks everyone for reading!**

**Reviews/comments welcome!**


	10. Chapter 10

Giving John a rather confused look, Sherlock just shakes his head a little. "No, John. I am using the same products as I always use. Perhaps you're just not used to being this close to me." He offers as he looks at the older man for a few moments, tilting his head a little before he looks back at the doctor's laptop to see what cases might have been sent to his blog, rather than the detective's own website.

"Hmmm. Is that a crack about my height, Sherlock?" John asks as he watches the younger man, not moving any closer because it would put too much straight on his wound, but not moving further away either, just relaxing against the back of the couch.

Another glance is spared for the doctor. "Perhaps you should wait until after you eat before taking any more pain medication next time, John." Sherlock says before he replies to one of the cases that John received, continuing to look through the list. "And no, I was not referring to your height, I merely meant that we often respect each other's personal space and therefore do not get close to each other. But yes, when we are close it is usually when I am standing, therefore it would be rather difficult for you to smell my shampoo." he says in a slightly dismissive, off-handed way, since to him it's just a statement of fact and nothing more.

John doesn't apparently see it that way though, because he humphs. "Not my fault you're freakishly tall." he says as he shakes his head slowly, starting to cross his arms over his chest and deciding against it, lowering them back down to his sides, and folding his hands in his lap. "Yes.. I think you're right about the medication, I feel a little loopy." He says honestly, closing his eyes for a few moments before he opens them when he hears a ring of the doorbell, looking at Sherlock questioningly.

Perking his head up, Sherlock listens carefully to the doorbell before he puts the laptop on the coffee table in a swift but careful gesture. "Lestrade." he says in an eager tone as he looks back at John with a small grin on his face.

"Good! I hope he has a case for you." John says with a slightly tired little smile, lifting a hand and waving when Lestrade comes up the stairs and through the main door. "'Ello, Lestrade! Good to see you." he says with another smile as he looks at the detective.

Lestrade looks around the room as is his habit whenever he first comes into Baker Street, then he focuses on John curiously, and the detective beside him. "Morning, John. How are you feeling? Seems like you're enjoying the medication they gave you." he says with a little bit of amusement.

A firm nod comes from John, and he clears his throat. "Blimey, you should listen to the directions. Take after you've eaten." He says before he adds, ""m fine. Do you have a case for Sherlock? I told him, he needs to get out more." He says quietly, then sighs, looking confused. "No.. no, that's not right. I told him.. he needs to get out. For a case." he clarifies slowly.

Sighing a little as he looks at his companion, Sherlock shakes his head before he gets up. "John is obviously suffering from some side effect of his medication. Do you have something for me, Lestrade?" he asks, sounding a bit impatient, since he's now eager for a case. he didn't think about it before, but now that one is presented to him, he is.

Highly amused by the doctor's antics, Lestrade just nods a little. "Yes, I have a case for you. It appears to be triple suicide, but there are some suspicious circumstances." He explains, watching Sherlock. "Will you come?" he asks, shifting his stance a little, eager to be out and doing something, obviously.

Looking over at John for a few moments, Sherlock finally nods a little. "Text me the address, I'll be there within the hour." he decides as he looks at Lestrade curiously for a few moments, then he brings the empty tea cups back to the kitchen, starting to clear some things up as he tries to anticipate what John might need, so he brings back a bottle of water and puts it on the end table.

Watching everything for a few moments, Lestrade smiles. "Well, looks like you're in good hands, John. Feel better, and let me know if you need anything." he says as he looks at the other man for a moment before he turns to head out.

"Yeah. Sherlock's been taking care of me." John says with a nod of his head, then he adds, "He's such a mother hen." Before he looks form Sherlock to Lestrade. "Right. Will do. Go catch the bad guys." he says before he sighs, shifting around carefully until he can lay down on the couch.

Sherlock just nods, blushing a little at John's words, before he glances at Lestrade as he the older man leaves. "You do not react well to pain medication, John." He observes as he watches the doctor, putting the phone on the coffee table, within reach, the remove for the TV beside it. He brings over some fruit and biscuits for John to eat if he gets hungry, and an extra bottle of water, before covering John in a blanket from the back of the couch. "Do you need anything before I go? I doubt this will take very long, there isn't a decent criminal mastermind out in the city." he says in a disappointed tone.

Picking up the remote, John regards the taller man for a few moments before he slowly shakes his head. "No. Thank you, Sherlock. You're actually good at this whole taking care of someone else thing.." He offers with a small smile as he looks at the brunette, before he reaches out and opens the bottle of water, taking a drink before he puts it back and turns the tellie on to flick through some channels. "Go. Go on to your crime scene, text me if you need my help, I'm not going anywhere." he reassures with a small smile. "Though I may go back to sleep." he admits, yawning a little, wincing a little as the action aggravates his ribs a little. "Feel like all I do is sleep, but I need it to heal." he says with a shake of his head.

Not being able to help but smile down at John, Sherlock nods a little again. "Alright. If you do move to the bedroom or something, take your phone with you, just in case I need to consult with you over something." he says as he points to the phone on the coffee table, watching John for a moment before he smiles and goes to the door, pulling on his jacket and then looping the scarf around his neck before he makes sure he has everything else he needs, looking at the message on his mobile before he nods a little to himself, recognizing the area the address is in.

Watching the detective get ready in that bloody dramatic coat of his, John smiles a little. "I will. Stop worrying, you need all your brain power to figure out this case of Lestrade's." he points out, making a shooing motion with one hand. "Go on. Stop stalling. Stop worrying. Go." He orders as he gives the detective his best, firm look.

For a moment, Sherlock watches John, hesitating at the doorway before he nods a little and turns to head out, his footsteps able to be heard down the stairs and out the door before the flat falls relatively silent except for the sound of the television.

* * *

**Annd.. this is a little shorter than I expected. Boo. But I needed to use someone else and get Sherlock out of the house before they kill eachother. Still, I hope you all enjoy it. :)**

**Reviews/comments welcome!**


	11. Chapter 11

While John does sleep for a little while, getting over the worst of the effects of the drugs, he wakes up feeling restless. Carefully, he gets up, and since he feels ok he decides to go out for lunch instead of trying to make himself something or bothering Mrs. Hudson. So he changes, carefully, and then moves down the stairs, wincing a little, but once he's out on the street it doesn't hurt a much, so he starts walking a little more carelessly as he wanders looking for someplace to eat lunch.

Picking one of the little cafes and he and Sherlock seem to frequent, getting himself a seat. Since there are no texts from Sherlock, he assumes that everything is going alright and Lestrade does not want to kill him yet. As he eats, he watches the people go by on the sidewalk, businessmen, mothers, friends, and lovers. And for a moment he feels very alone.

Since coming back to London he hasn't really spent a lot of time with anyone. Before moving in with Sherlock he just had his little flat-share, he didn't really want to talk to Harry or be around her drunken ravings, he didn't have any friends left in London, most of them were, and are, still back in the army. Then he met the whirlwind known as Sherlock Holmes, and was swept up in his wake like so many other people. He gained a best friend, but he also gained friends in Lestrade and Molly. Hell, you could even call Mycroft a friend of sort. If your friend kidnaps you all the time.

After finishing his food, John gets up slowly and walks out of the cafe as he continues to think about everything, and how his life has changed since he met Sherlock. For the better, in his view, since he was in a really bad place before meeting Sherlock. When his side starts hurting, he's not exactly sure how far he's walked, but he winces a little as he walks the five or six blocks back to the flat, though the stairs hurt worse than anything and he has to stop on the landing halfway up the stairs, one hand over his side, breathing heavily before he makes it the rest of the way up the stairs.

Pills are first, and then John grabs the first aid kit to retreat to the bathroom, leaving the door open before he remove his shirts to see blood having soaked through the bandaging. By the time he gets it off, he notices that he pulled a stitch out, shaking his head a bit as he washes his hands and then get supplies out of the kit to start stitching himself back up. Not the most pleasant thing to do, but doable.

Naturally, that is when Sherlock gets back, grumbling all the way up the stairs. He frowns when he hears cursing from the bathroom, walking to the doorway and staring to see John working on himself, gloved hands bloodied and holding a needle. "John! I leave you alone for a few hours, and you overdid it. You said I would be fine going out, that you could handle it." He accuses as he steps forward and frowns, watching what John is doing closely.

Glancing up at Sherlock, John sighs heavily, he was hoping to finish this before the detective got back. "I just went for a walk and to lunch. Guess I exerted myself a bit more than I thought." he says as he watches himself, finishing the stitching and rinsing the needle off before he removes his gloves and packs everything away.

While John is packing everything up, Sherlock cleans the blood and such off the area, tries to disinfect it the best he can before he pulls out some gauze and tape to patch it back up. "You pushed yourself too far. You could have called for take away, you could have called Mrs. Hudson. No matter how good you may feel you know you're injured and you went out anyway." Sherlock says in a frustrated and worried tone as he finishes applying the gauze.

John put one hand on Sherlock's shoulder gently to keep it out of the way while the bandage is being applied, and he nods quietly. "I told you I would make a horrible patient. I did everything I used to tell my patients not to do." He says with a little shake of his head. He gives Sherlock's shoulder a squeeze, seeing how worried that he made the detective. "Sorry." He says before he sighs, the pills having at least brought the throbbing down to a minimum.

Nodding a little, Sherlock takes more time than he strictly needs to smooth down the edge of the tape, to avoid looking up at john. Finally, he stands up. "I'll get you another shirt." he offers as he walks out of the bathroom, heading upstairs and grabbing a soft, button-up shirt before he comes back down, finding John still in the bathroom. "This will be easier for now, I think." he says as he stands behind him and helps the doctor into it the way someone might help someone else into a jacket.

"Thanks." John says a he settles the shirt around himself, then adds, "Bloody hell, Sherlock, I can button it myself." He mutters as the detective move around to tart buttoning it, but ultimately he just lets him because it's no use arguing and because he knows he must have worried the younger man. An if this is how Sherlock needs to feel better, then that is what John will allow him to do.

Ignoring John's words, Sherlock just buttons the older man's shirt like one might a child, and then looks up at him. "The case is solved, luckily, so apparently I will have to stay and make sure you aren't a bloody idiot." he says as he turns John around by the shoulders an nudges him carefully back out into the living room.

Sighing but complying, John goes to sit down on the couch carefully, before he lays down just to keep any extra weight and strain off his abdomen. "I asked for this, didn't I?" He asks curiously as he picks up one of the previously forgotten water bottles and takes a long drink out of it.

Going to the kitchen to make himself two cup of tea, Sherlock looks over at John, making sure that he's settled on the couch. "Well, yes. You lied about being ok on your own." He repeats, frowning a little and still slightly frustrated about that. Still, he makes the tea and comes back to the couch, handing a cup to John and helping him sit up a little before he retreat to the chair.

"I know. I'm sorry. Why don't you tell me about your wonderful triple suicide that you went and solved? I'm assuming it wasn't a suicide or you wouldn't have been out so long." John says with a little smile before he takes a sip of his tea, sighing a little and relaxing.

Hesitating for a few moments as he decides whether or not he wants to sulk or if he wants to boast. Boasting wins out and he nods a little to John, sipping his tea before he starts explaining how it was really a homicide, made to look like a triple suicide by one single person who was only slightly clever. But of course Sherlock was more clever.

"Amazing. You never cease to amaze me, Sherlock." John praises after the story is finished and he smiles, the deep tone of Sherlock's voice having actually made him a little sleepy. "I think I'm going to take a nap now, if that's alright..." He says quietly with a small yawn.

Nodding slowly, Sherlock gets up to drape the blanket over John again. "Sleep well." he says quietly as he goes over to his violin, picking it up to play some gentle, soft music to help John sleep, mostly just playing whatever music comes to mind, in this case it ends up being one of his own compositions to lull the doctor to sleep.

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**Yay! Another chapter. This one feels sort of... flat, to me. Like it should be more emotionally involved after Sherlock finds John, but I just totally failed in that department. Course, I am horribly critical, so hopefully it's just me, and you all like it. :D Also, please forgive typos, my keyboard is on the fritz tonight, especially the s key. I think I got them all, but not sure.**

**Reviews/comments welcome!**


	12. Chapter 12

Over the next few days Sherlock's obsessive coddling of John nearly sets him over the edge, and while he's healing nicely now that he is pretty much confined to the couch, he ends up yelling at Sherlock one day. And since he is not allowed out under pain of Mrs. Hudson's scolding, John makes a decision and glares at Sherlock. "Get out, Sherlock. Just.. bloody well take a walk for a few hours. I will be here, I promise, but I just.. I can't deal with you anymore right now." he says as he puts one hand over his eyes for a moment.

Frustrated as well because he honestly isn't sure exactly what he did wrong, just wanting to make sure John is safe and recovering well, Sherlock nods a little. "Fine." he says as he goes and pulls on his jacket. "I'll be back in a few hours. Text me if you need me back sooner." he says, not looking at John as he puts his scarf on, making sure his phone has a charge before he rushes downstairs and out.

It's less than half an hour before John hears a knock on the door, Mrs. Hudson bustling out to get it as she normally does. But it's the voice that John hears that makes him groan and wish he could just lock the doors or crawl under the covers or pretend not to be home.

"Hello Mycroft." John says after he counters the footsteps up the stairs, and the sound of the umbrella landing on the wood just inside their door. He had his eyes closed, not wanting to watch Mycroft approach since he has a good view from where he's lying on the couch. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asks, slowly opening his eyes to look at the taller man.

For a moment Mycroft watches John before he moves into the kitchen, giving the experiment space also known as the kitchen table a disdainful look before he casually goes about making some tea, from the looks of it. "I merely came to see how you are doing, John. Of course I heard that you were injured. Being cooped up with my brother for the better part of two weeks must be difficult." he explains, bringing back two cups of tea for him and John. "I had meant to stop by about an hour ago, but even from the street it sounded like you were having a rather spectacular row, so I thought it best to come back later. Seeing as my little brother is not in residence, I would assume you drove him out." he says with some amusement as he sits in Sherlock's chair regally.

Accepting the tea because really, he was looking forward to a good cuppa, and he promised Sherlock he would stay put, John takes a drink before sighing a little. "Yes. Sherlock is being a little overprotective. Mostly because I pulled out a few of my stitches the other day. Nothing I couldn't patch up myself, but it shook Sherlock up a bit." he feels the need to explain as he stares up at the ceiling.

"It's rather good you're a doctor, it sounds like." Mycroft says as he watches John for a few moments. "I am sure my little brother will come to see the error of his ways." he says with a curious look as he continues to sip his tea.

John looks over at Mycroft curiously for a few moments. "When did Sherlock ever just.. see the error of his ways on his own?" He asks curiously, finishing his tea and setting it aside before he continues to watch the elder Holmes.

Arching an eyebrow slowly, Mycroft inclines his head toward John. "Yes. Indeed. Perhaps you are right, John. I do hope you're feeling well other than the headache Sherlock is sure to give you on a daily basis. I do hope it won't change your mind about saying on here. It seems you are rather good for my brother." The taller man says as he looks down into his teacup for a few moments, rising smoothly to go and put it in the kitchen sink.

A little surprised at where this conversation is going, John shakes his head a little. "Sherlock gives me headaches, makes me mad enough to storm out of the flat, but I would never, EVER consider moving out. This is my home, and Sherlock is my best friend, despite the frustrations. I wouldn't trade it for anything." he says firmly, sitting himself up just slightly on the couch so he doesn't feel so vulnerable.

Standing near the kitchen door, Mycroft regards John for a few moments before he nods. "Yes. I can see that. Well. I'm glad to see you're doing well, I do hope you take all the necessary precautions to heal properly, so Sherlock does not feel the need to go rushing off without you." he says with a small sigh, glancing around with some distaste in his face, never having understood why Sherlock didn't move into a nicer place.

"Thank you, Mycroft. And I am doing everything my doctor ordered." John reassures as he watches the older man. "Thank you for stopping by." he says politely even though it's not very heartfelt, even if this is one of the few times that Mycroft's visit and/or kidnapping has been somewhat jovial in nature.

"Good day, John." Mycroft says after nodding a little to the other man and he heads downstairs with a swing of his trademark umbrella, exchanging pleasantries with Mrs. Hudson who of course is in the hallway at the exact same time that Mycroft decided to go downstairs, so she could ask him about him and his brother in her normal, nosy, gossipy way that she has.

Smiling at the fact that John can hear Mycroft is delayed for a good ten minutes, the doctor chuckles and then turns on the television, actually feeling a bit better after that conversation because in a small way he knows that Mycroft approves of him now and that is a huge thing coming from Mycroft Holmes.

For a few long minutes as the television drones away in the background, John looks around the room and tries to think about when 221B Baker Street became home, rather than just another flat. He thinks it was during their first case, when they were running all over London, when Sherlock helped cure him of his psychosomatic limp. Smiling at the memory of that, John looks down at his legs for a few moments and he chuckles as he remembers how shocked and elated he was when Angelo showed up at the door with his cane and he realized he hadn't needed it once that evening.

Feeling oddly happy and content, John pulls the blanket from the couch up around him and slides down a little on the couch so that he is laying more comfortably, letting the sounds of the television drone on in the background as he thinks about things but mostly he relaxes and closes his eyes, not really sleeping but right there on the edge. And that's how he remains as he waits for Sherlock to come home, jerking awake a few times at various sounds from the street, but refusing to text the younger man so soon, not wanting to seem like he's forgive him that easily.

* * *

**Ugh! I am soooo sorry for the slow update. My updates may be slow on this one from now on, it's getting hard for me to just not rehash the same stuff eover and over. Also, sorry it's so short, I've been having a rough time lately.**

**Still, I hope everyone enjoys it, let me know what you think! Reviews/comments welcome!**


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